PositiveLite.com - Brian FinchPositiveLite.com- Canada's Online HIV Magazinehttp://www.positivelite.com
Tue, 03 Mar 2015 13:46:12 -0500Joomla! - Open Source Content Managementen-gbStorytelling: the act of subversionhttp://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/storytelling-the-act-of-subversion
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Brian Finch says “micro” interventions like personal story telling to small audiences are what are going to advance us more than articles in newspapers and glossy social media campaigns.

What is old is new again.

In Toronto only a few years ago there was only a handful of storytelling shows in the city, including the one I started with a friend. Today there are so many I am no longer able to keep track.

What is great about storytelling and its community is that it is very humanizing. The stage is a great equalizer when we are each taking turns being vulnerable. The act of sharing our stories breaks down barriers and brings people together.

I love the storytelling community. You can be whoever you want in this world. It doesn’t matter.

One fellow at an event shared that he is bi-polar, a recent diagnosis. He shared how a friend had told him that once you disclose people will see you differently.

My friend and I shared our HIV status with him and chatted. None of us were put in a box and were just seen as Brian, Paul and Jake.

What is storytelling? There is an art to it, trust me. There are different kinds; for today I’m writing about personal stories. These spoken words draw an audience into the world the storyteller creates. As the listener creates a movie in his or her head the experience becomes interactive.

Storytelling is not telling your whole life story in ten minutes. It is focusing on one narrowly defined narrative and event in one’s life. Srories have a beginning, a middle and an end.

Taking someone into your movie means most often speaking in the present tense. “In the year 1987 I am walking down a hot blistering street in downtown Winnipeg during an August afternoon.” There are many nuances in timing between the very serious and heartfelt to the lighthearted and humorous. This is where the art comes in.

I’ve spent hours and hours thinking of just the opening line, many more hours editing out details getting down to seven minutes. And on the other hand, I’ve gotten up on the spur of the moment and done quite well. But as a rule, this should be prepared. You need to know how to start and know where you are going.

Sometimes I am very serious, other times I like to make people laugh, or do both. This is why I love it so much more than stand-up. There are so many more options, textures and layers that can be brought to this format. Plus the audiences are so supportive and wonderful.

I do find being vulnerable in this format more intimate than just telling my story in what we call “reporter” style. Simply recounting my personal story at schools and other places allows me to distance myself from it, almost as if I were talking about someone else’s life.

As with my experience in stand-up, the subversion is simply being yourself (in this case weaving into the narrative being HIV-positive) in non-traditional environments.

One night I found myself in a downtown Toronto Jewish deli, Caplansky’s, at a storytelling show. While the audience is eating smoked meat and deep-friend pickles, I tell my story about how I got into public speaking. This means I have to disclose.

I bet that most of those people have never met someone positive, let alone someone who talks about it so casually and in a manner where this is not our sole defining factor. Speaking gigs before used to just be about one thing and one thing only, my status.

People take their cues from us. If we show them what a stigma-free world looks like, then they will hopefully help in creating a larger one. Isn’t that what we all want? These “micro” interventions and connections are what are going to advance us more than articles in newspapers and glossy social media campaigns.

I’m happy to say I’m not the only one doing this now. Another positive friend of mine has gotten into storytelling. I have another one who has been doing some stand up and improv.

We need more of this. It is the act of integrating ourselves into whatever we do. I don’t mean putting a stamp on our foreheads and talking about it all the time. Our lives are so much more than this. Storytelling is a format that allows me to perform and explore those other aspects of myself.

My “Tales of” show ran for a great two years.Now I’m working with a couple of friends to launch a new one. This one is more aligned with being ourselves and taking risks.

It is called “Dare! Stories We Thought We’d Never Tell”. It's on January 21st at The Ossington, 61 Ossington Ave, Toronto (pay what you can - all are welcome). 7:30 PM

I am also looking for storytellers. Newbies are great, and we can work with you to help you out.

Until then, I’ll be figuring out exactly how much I’m going to reveal in this first show.

"I have had numerous conversations in my travels with young gay people who see the threat of HIV as diminished to the point of near irrelevance. I have heard too many stories of young people taking PrEP as an insurance policy against their tendency toward unprotected non-monogamous sex. THAT is my only outrage."

Guys in the 20s and early 30s are about as familiar with the crisis days and pre-treatment days as I am with the Vietnam War. As one said to me, “It’s all theoretical.” My response was, “Dear, as soon as you put a dick in your mouth it is no longer theoretical.” But that’s how they see it.

As they say, you can bring a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink. Wagging our fingers at them isn’t going to help. I offer no answers here.

One time a post-sex disclosure happened by accident online. I asked the guy to read my profile which included my status and get back to me if he was interested. He said he had, and in reality he hadn’t. Much later, he read an article I wrote. The next thing I know I’ve got a surprised email full of concern. “For god’s sake.” I thought. He only sucked my cock. Not to mention he didn’t read my profile so I was just as surprised as he was.

This was the guy who said it was theoretical to him. I was originally quite harsh and very judgmental. Somehow at age of 28 I was the first person he’d known about with a positive status.

How does this happen? A carefully constructed system of willful blindness. It’s a system where those who are out about their status are the ones that are penalized and stigmatized.

Additionally, running in the background like malware is racism, unequal power dynamics, sense of self, HIV criminalization, stigma and social campaign fatigue; sprinkle a little crystal meth in for good measure and there is a subject for a PHD grad’s thesis somewhere.

I’ve also encountered another sub-segment of guys who refuse to use condoms. They are both negative and positive. Nothing I could say would change their mind. This is their choice. They have done their risk analysis.

"We’d rather seem to support HIV infection (by depriving men of access to PrEP) rather than accept that condomless sex is going to happen, no matter how much you scream and shout."

This is where my fellow gay men go all right-wing in their ideology. It’s as if we have been transported to the 1950s talking about birth control. We’d rather have unwanted pregnancies than recognize that teens have sex. Just like we’d rather seem to support HIV infection (by depriving men of access to PrEP) rather than accept that condomless sex is going to happen, no matter how much you scream and shout.

There is a deep routed fear that everyone is going to rush out and bareback when given PReP. Some guys will, some guys won’t. I don’t want someone telling me how to have sex. I certainly don’t want other gay men to label others as “Truvada Whores.” We are our own worst enemies. At times we are not much better than those we love so much to criticize.

Whenever I talk about the implications behind being undetectable and risk level in the latest research, the first thing that comes out of people’s mouthes is “It doesn’t mean you don’t use condoms.”

My immediate reaction is, “Where did I say not to use condoms?” Your need to control is so great that you have to get it out of your mouth and past your lips in record time.

I like the idea of redundancy; using a condom and being undetectable means that negative guys should not be freaking out. No need for the “Ebola-Reponse”. We need them to get with the program.

It’s time to stop the shaming, stop the outrage, and get educating.

Lately when I do go on a hook up site, I tend to go to one particular barebacking site. Everyone is up front about their status, sex-positive and stigma free. I have no desire to get together with anyone negative.

I’ve had enough of guys sero-sorting by stamping “neg only” to self-select out the virally suppressed undetectable positive guys. In the end they will be inevitably hooking up with a guy recently exposed and highly infectious during the initial acute phase.

The problem is that often I’m not that interested in barebacking as there are many other things I’d rather not get. But what does that say about the times when this is the venue in which I feel the most accepted and comfortable. (This is a long way of saying I don’t have sex that often.)

Now if we could only create that kind of dynamic off-line and in our broader community we’d be so much further ahead.

Zachary is still my heartthrob. When it comes to issues around HIV, he’s still a work in progress.

I used to joke on stage while doing standup to very straight audiences about how easy it is to get laid. “I met this guy and I asked him if he wanted to be a fuck buddy and he said sure. That’s how easy it is and exactly how lazy I am.”

Sport fucking doesn’t seem to be my thing anymore. Looking baqck, I’ve been in more places where I’ve walked in stripped, did it, and then left than I can remember. It’s somewhere in between the fast-food experience of the baths and having a live flesh sex doll to use.

I call those visits “drive-by shootings.”My advice has always been to make sure you plan these moments in the areas where you need to do your errands. That way if it’s a total bust, you can still remain productive by picking up your groceries and dry cleaning.

I used to pride myself on the fact that I had I had fucked someone in every apartment tower or hotel in downtown Toronto. With all the new condos going up, I will have to pass that torch on to the next generation

Getting back from a three month trip in Tel Aviv last May, I experienced a bit of a cultural shock. I hated being in Toronto, and I wasn’t feeling too keen on some of this city's inhabitants.

Then a few weeks later a car accident happened. We drove into a bunch of cars and we not only flipped on our side leaving me hanging on the passenger’s side, the vehicle was totalled. Nobody was seriously hurt, although strapped to one of those boards to go to emergency resulted in a claustrophobic panic at one point. (This was the point when I realized I was getting too old for bondage.)

After that night I waked around for a few days in shock-induced fog. I lost my motivation for most of everything and slept a lot. This took some time to work though. Finally a month later I started getting some help with a chiropractor and massage. Physically I was starting to feel better.

To enhance my energy I began using testosterone gel. Not only does it give me energy, I began to start saying….“I’m so horny right now I could fuck a door if it was open…..in fact that door over there I’m finding really distracting right now."

My fingers typed in my browser the name of one bareback hook-up site, and I was set to go. I hooked up with maybe two guys.

Casually after making myself a coffee I turned on Facebook to find out my grandmother in Winnipeg was in the hospital and was not going to be getting out. Two days after arriving she passed away and I stayed long enough to get to the funeral. I was exhausted, the trip was overwhelming. But I did it.

When I got back from Winnipeg I felt completely disoriented. What little of a routine I had was gone. I missed my family, and had to process what just happened over the last couple of weeks.

Once back, I met up with my one fuck-buddy, a hearing-impaired fellow. That was a strange experience as his hearing-impaired female roommate was home in the bedroom next to his. The weird part is seeing her in the hallway giving a wave hello after the deed was done.

That was about two and half months ago.

Suddenly I was stricken with a minor attack of prostatitis. These are the joys of approaching fifty, but I couldn’t help wonder if there was any connection to the barebacking since this was about a week later.

I ask my gay doctor, “Could this be related to having bareback sex?"

“Why, did your prostrate get a good pounding?”

I laughed and replied, “No it was more like I was the pounder."(Yes you can own a chihuahua and still be a top.)

“Highly unlikely that it is.” he said.

Phew, that’s at least one thing I didn’t have to worry about.

I had to start a six-week course of antibiotics that are causing the worst insomnia I’ve ever had. Whatever routine I could pull together is now lost in sleepy days and watching a lot of TV. I stopped the testosterone as it could be affecting my sleep. There was no semblance of sex drive.

Sexual anorexia is settling in again. Winter SADS is insidiously creeping in resulting in the need to up my anti-depressant and my SAD light season officially arrived with the addition of vitamins D andB12. I’m well versed in dealing with the dark days of winter.

Now I’m done with the antibiotics. Everything has settled down. I’m back on the testosterone and open doors are starting to look inviting again.

And, ironically, I just received an email about how I have to log into my sex site due to inactivity or it will be deactivated.

I call that serendipity.

Author

Brian Finch - Founder

]]>Mon, 03 Nov 2014 00:00:00 -0500Grandma, part twohttp://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/grandma-2
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A death in the family brings Brian Finch closer to his family

When I left Toronto after hearing my grandmother was sick, I was tired and depressed after a string of events, including a car accident. Going back to my hometown of Winnipeg felt overwhelming. As I wrote in part one, the thought of having to deal with death, a subject that I avoid as much as possible, made me feel even more depressed. “Was I going to be able to handle it?”

Having traveled a lot in my lifetime, I have an automatic response to the preparations. I’ve got a job to do, and everything else has to be put aside. Plus I have the added responsibility of taking along my little dog (she comes on board with me - I’m asked that questions a million times).

My mother had given my sister and me the impression grandma was doing much better than she really was. So when I did see her the next day I wish I could say it was a shock but it wasn’t. I have seen this before.The person is skin and bones and bares little resemblance to the person they once where.

Since she had her dentures out she reminded of what an anorexic blow up doll would look like with the circular mouth open. Her breathing is laboured and interrupted by pauses up to 30 seconds.

I’m not sure if my mom was in denial as when we left she said, “I’ll guess we’ll come back on Wednesday.” This was Monday. My sister called to stay she was coming back to stay all night and I returned to be with her.

As it turned out grandma struggled for several more days. Even though I’ve been in Toronto all these years only seeing her during limited visits, I felt I had to be with her through this entire process. It’s hard not to have heartbreak seeing her wake up, scared and agitated by noise, needing more pain medication.

At the end of the day it was the grandchildren who set up vigil. There were four of us who where there all the time.

On the Wednesday at the foot of her bed, my sister and I, along with two cousins and an aunt were going through a bunch of photos reminiscing about the various memories and laughing at how goofy we looked.

I noticed something different about grandma but let it go. Seconds later my cousin says, “Something has changed.” Each of us when up to her and kissed her on the forehead and said, “I love you grandma.” I was the last, and then she stopped breathing.

Moments pass, and she scares us with one last gasp and that’s it. Ninety-six years of living was gone.

Teary-eyed we all go into the hallway as the nurses pronounce her dead and gather her things. The five of us are huddled by the room doorway when a an elderly patient with an I.V. pole on wheels comes by. He’s like the lonely guy at the bar that wants to make conversation.

“So what’s the party?” he cheerfully asks. I’m thinking maybe he’ll notice my sister’s tears. We are all smiling though as it is badly needed comic relief.

“So what’s the party? Can I join?”

“Nope” I think, “He’s not going to let it go".

“It’s more like a wake” I say.

“Oh ok…” and he walks away.

I’m not sure if he connects the dots as to how much of his foot he actually got into his mouth.

We all laugh.

I was so afraid to come on this trip. What happened was unexpected. As I mentioned in part one of this post, I’ve been terrified of death. I never watch movies where people die from illness, especially The Normal Heart. I’ve never seen Angels in America. Yet there I was standing by her, kissing her on her forehead and seeing her last moments slip away. I was not terrified, not scared, but rather found some peace. The suffering of the last few days were over.

Ultimately her inevitable death gave me her one last gift, and that was to walk through my fear and be there for her.

There was no family drama. Instead I took risks in sharing some intimate moments I had with my grandmother at her funeral, along with the story of her going to visit a family friend with AIDS in the hospital. She went everyday and spoke to him even though he was far gone. She knew that he could hear him. She went to the funeral and saved all the materials from the service to give to me.

I decided "fuck it". I shared how her going through the war and myself going through the AIDS crisis created a bond between us. Only she knew what it was like to see such loss in her life created by a world event.

Perhaps this made some people feel uncomfortable, but what the fuck. Relatives from my dad’s side of the family where there as well.

This became an opportunity to become closer to my family. I’ve kept them at a distance only allowing them in so far, others not at all. One aunt said to me afterwards while putting her arms around my waist, “You know you never have to go through that alone.”

Later she said, “We always thought you didn’t want to see us.” I had let her know I’d been scared about what they’d think.

My sister and I walked through this experience together and it became a time to become closer. I’ve always wanted to be closer to my family.

When I boarded the plane to come back I was actually quite sad that I was leaving them behind.

Sometimes unexpected things happen, and this was one of them.

I will though, probably still stay away from The Normal Heart, at least for now.

Author

Brian Finch - Founder

]]>Wed, 03 Sep 2014 00:00:00 -0400Grandmahttp://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/grandma
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Brian Finch confronts the role of loss in his life and that of other long-term survivors

When death arrives, I feel the years of sadness that have accumulated over time as if they were bricks building a wall, a wall that I did not want to see the other side of. It doesn’t seem to matter how it is presented it brings back the profound melancholy of having witnessed death so often.

Some talk about PTSD after having survived the AIDS holocaust years. I’m not sure what that looks like. Maybe it has affected me, maybe it hasn’t. It does remind me of the bad car accident I had been in six weeks ago; this may go before the courts so that’s all I can say.

The other day though I had to pick up my bike in my neighbourhood. Right across the street there had been an accident. It was the familiar seen of the ambulance, lights flashing, people in shock and massive car damage. Suddenly I’m having flashbacks as if what I went through was real. It was so traumatic at the time that somehow I feel as if I’ve been a witness to something that didn’t happen to me, yet when confronted with it, it becomes all too real.

This is why I stopped going to funerals many years ago. Like that accident scene, the flashbacks of not just the pain and grief of the one individual come back, but they all do. This goes all the way back to the days in Winnipeg when it was such news that someone would die from “AIDS”that a news crew came out to one funeral. We had to form a human shield so his last moments above ground were not part of the CBC dinner-time news.

The pain and grief from losing people, and being around those who lost so many over time, became internalized and put in a silo. Having to confront it at times feels unbearable. This is why I don’t watch AIDS-related movies or plays. There has been enough of that in my life, why relive it through entertainmen?. When I saw people having parties to watch “The Normal Heart”I found it somewhat horrifying.

There was a time when the losses had almost stopped, but they are back. Now it’s secondary issues caused over time, inflammatory illnesses, cancer and all sorts of other joyful maladies.

Getting older means that naturally over time one sees more people passing away as we look at our parents aging and think the unthinkable: what will be like when they are gone?

Maybe it’s been my low grade depression since the accident, the lack of energy and the will to do just about anything that was the added context that made it seem more sad when I learned my grandmother is in the hospital with cancer. This is not a surprise; she is 96 years old. The only surprise was that I wasn’t expecting to hear about it at this moment. I’m not exactly sure when that right moment is. I guess I thought I’d hear that she had died in her sleep or something, after the fact.

She had been the one constant in a life with very few. Her phone number has been the same my entire life. Her selling her house that I’d known my entire life to move into a seniors had a surprisingly profound effect. It was as if all my childhood memories had been sold with it. Often I dream that I am back in the house explaining to somebody about the kitchen pantry where my sister played hide and seek, or how there used to be this retched 1960s motif wallpaper with varying shades of blue and purple. Frequently I would have this dream in different incarnations.

I was closer to her than my mother at times. Once a family friend died from AIDS. I was living in Regina and could not be there. She told me she went every day to sit and talk to him even though he was not responsive. She attended the funeral and gave me the printed materials from it. When I disclosed my status she was there for me. I was spoiled, and could get away with joking with her in ways no other family member could.

I often felt a kinship with her because she knew what it was like to lose so many people, friends, family, and her husband to the war. She had lived through all the grief and death I had been experiencing in a much different way.

All of this would feel more natural if our own lives as survivors had not been plagued by death as young as our early twenties when we were supposed to be working towards our future, not confronted with our mortality.

It’s time now to think about going back to Winnipeg. The thought of a funeral is heartbreaking.

For better or worse, I have to be there. For better or worse, this is part of life and I can’t run away from it. Fuck, I hate this shit.

Author

Brian Finch - Founder

]]>Wed, 16 Jul 2014 00:00:00 -0400Fuck Facebook - continuing on the path to serenityhttp://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/fuck-facebook-continuing-on-the-path-to-serenity
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Brian Finch finds one social media site is particularly annoying – but the question is "can he give it up?"

“Oh honey, if it disrupts your serenity get rid of it.”

These are wise words from my I-can’t-tell-you-what-anonymous group sponsor. It really can be that simple. But how long does it take to truly learn and act upon these wise words?

The struggle of getting pot out of my life was definitely disrupting my serenity. I had to get rid of it. The social isolation, the constant fogginess, even poorer memory, and constantly making plans with no follow through was only making me unhappy.

For years also, social media has been ruling my life. It was and continues to be an important aspect of promoting and networking on my last project.

Over time though, I became very ADD. Today it is very hard for me to watch a movie without diverting my attention somewhere else. I’ll check for messages, what’s on twitter or check out websites.

I’d find Facebook in particular an annoyance - or even a rage trigger. This platform is like constantly spending your life in the town square with many people I like and with others I don’t. Often it just takes one to spoil a party.

Moreover, is my opinion on everything that important? Social media is a place where the ego plays out. Suddenly everything we think and express feel likes it has so much weight and consequence.At least it does for me and many others. It’s a place where the ego reaches out feeling safe behind a screen and presents itself in ways that often would not manifest in person.

Case in point Last night while watching a debate on local municipal politics, I realized one of the candidates was, at least online, responsible for obnoxious ego-based discussions that often lead to insulting other people.

Character judgements are based on a few words of text, though. My thought was, “This can’t be the same person?”” Watching this fellow live on TV, he was not at all what I expected from his online persona.I’m sure the very same could be said of me.

For me, with Facebook especially, constantly being surrounded by everyone’s opinion can become a constant irritant, a disruption of my serenity. What is it exactly that is happening to me in the age of hyper connectivity?

I started to look around and saw that I was not the only one. Natin Lustig has a great blog post “My relationship with Facebook”I understood many of his points. Why is it that now when I see something I immediately want to share it? It is the first instinct. Why is it that I check this site so many times a day and spend so many unproductive hours looking at the endless newsfeed?

The other day I got anger-triggered by one person, which was more about a past resentment than what was presently happening. Then I thought about it all day, almost obsessively. This is not healthy, and again is disrupting my serenity.

“When you complain you make yourself a victim. Leave the situation, change the situation, or accept it. All else is madness.” Erkhart Tolle.

I cannot leave this situation. Facebook is an important tool for work, namely producing shows. Therefore I have to change it. It is now a work tool. I’m slowly getting people to email me instead of messaging me on Facebook. I’ll update posts that are work-performance related.

The first day leaving Facebook on these terms, I felt anxiety, even lonely. I have to tell myself Facebook gives an illusion of being connected. I want old fashioned face to face time. Indeed, after a day the impulse to share all the time started to leave. There was, after all, a time in life when we didn’t have this and we managed quite fine.

As I’m getting older and changing, I need to change many of the things around me. Right now I just want serenity, and whatever that takes to achieve it.

Not having the illusion of connectedness forces me to reach out and be with or talk to people. These interactions are enriching instead of energy sucking. Serenity is happiness, and if something is disrupting it, get rid of it.

Such wise words. The less virtually connected I am, the more serenity I have.

I’ve successfully stopped doing meth. It’s been about ten years since I’ve last done any.

Then a year or so later I quit alcohol, then pot. Since then I’ve not had continuous years without slipping back into some old ways or another.

In 2007 I got back into drinking, smoking pot and coke while in Puerto Vallarta - big surprise when spending six weeks there with nothing to do. I’d also had a couple glasses of wine, the last one being August 2011.

Being part of a twelve-step program, but not for pot, I still kept counting my sobriety time from 2011. However I had become completely disengaged from the program. For the first few months I had been attending meetings, but then the winter came. My seasonal depression and lethargy set in and I wasn’t up to making the effort.

My memory is not great, but there may have been times when I’d gone back to pot and left it before this. However I’d been able to stop.

The first time I quit was in 2004. It was dramatic and for me unbelievable. This was serious detox I was going through. Pot is benign and non-addictive.

I knew that I’d have some sleep disturbance that I’d have to make my way through, but I never dreamt that I’d get only two hours sleep a night, maybe four. When I did get sleep, my dreams were crazy and upon waking I still felt the emotional state that I had been in during the dream. Additionally any time I’d fall asleep even for five minutes I had the night sweats, at times so much so I’d have to change the sheets and pillow cases.

At the time when I explained to people what was going on, many didn’t believe me. Others thought it was kind of funny that I’d go to a 12 – step program over it as if I’m some overly dramatic wimp.

But that night when I went downstairs for a toke, just the one, launched an almost two-year battle of trying to stop. At first I thought, “It’s downstairs so I don’t have any at home.” The problem was that I was finding ways to be there all the time. On top of it he had some pretty serious mental health issues and I’d sit through meltdowns and all sorts of craziness as long as I got that toke. When I finally couldn’t deal with this I was back to getting it on my own.

Heading to Tel Aviv in 2013 I had been forced to stop for a month. I was keen to start over. However one of the first things I did when I got back was have a toke. I was right back to where I started.

Before this last trip to Tel Aviv. I went back thinking, “Oh well why stop now when I’ll be forced to when I get there.”

On arriving there not only did I have to deal with sleep issues from jet lag, but also stopping the pot. Ass in the fact that the unit below my apartment there was being renovated with constant jack hammering day after day after day and I thought I was going to go out of my mind.

At the mid point during my stay, I had been going to some meetings. My friend had been pushing me a bit to go with him. One night I went and out of my mouth, unbeknownst to me, I said I needed to get a sponsor when I get back to Toronto. I do not want to go back to be the depressed, always high and completely unmotivated state in which I had been in before leaving for Israel.

My friend in Israel afterwards offered to be a sponsor. We could do this long distance. Soon he would be relocated to a closer time zone. “Ok” I thought,”

Soon after I said yes and began working on the steps. I found that the friendship got so much closer as I revealed in four hours my entire story that I took two days to write as part of step one. I had bared my soul in a way that I don’t often do, and thank god, because four hours is a long time.

Then we moved onto the following two steps and hung out more. This was the work and the foundations to coming back home and not going back to the old ways. Last year I had not done the work and just expected it to change coming home, and it didn’t.

I arrived home May 1st. Walking down my hallway I could smell at least five different strains of pot as I passed by my neighbours' units. Pot is easier by far for me to get than alcohol.

It is now officially over three months of being truly sober. If I’m not I can’t get to the next level of my goals and dreams. I’ll just be stuck doing the hamster loop going nowhere.

Who would have thought that it would be pot that would be the toughest to completely get rid of. It wasn’t the cocaine, the crystal meth, the GHB (at one point doing a litre a month), the Ecstasy, the one-time only crack smoking night (and that was before Rob Ford made it super déclassé) the drinking or other various sundry things. Nope, it’s the pot.

Old habits die hard. Last night walking home I just wanted to numb my brain and tune out. If I don’t feel great, I want to numb myself and tune out. If I’m bored I want to numb myself and tune out.

The problem is that once I do I can’t stop, and what’s a life if it’s just numbed and tuned out?

While many are able to smoke without these consequences that’s great. For me however the 4:20 becomes eternity.

This is why I’ve turned my sober date back to Feb 2 (which does not negate any of the work prior) to mentally start over, a kind of rebirth to go along with the spring. The apartment cleaning has just finished with a surprising amount of partially filled baggies found lying around, rolling papers stuck in strange places, and of course pipes to diisoose of.

I’m awriting this because I’m too fucking lazy to want to share this at the meetings. And, it’s not really the right program for this; probably a different fellowship is more appropriate as well.

I’m suffering from education fatigue. One of the reasons I went so public about my status so many years ago was with the hope that I’d be able to make a difference for those who would follow. The rational thought was that as time went on people would become more educated and that lives for people living with HIV would get better.

The context then is different from today's. Back then hospital staff slid the meal trays into the rooms of patients on the floor for fear of entering. I was once not invited to a dinner party because of the old “you can get it from the dishes” stupidity.

Back in my Regina days around 1990, I had gone public by allowing my name to be on a Saskatchewan Health press release for a panel discussion that resulted in three days of media in English and French. I was even filmed while part of a phone-in radio as it was so newsworthy.

A week or so after that I had gone to the dentist to get my teeth cleaned. I didn’t know when or if I should disclose and I didn’t want to do it over the phone. I waited until I got there was no privacy. In the end I just got my teeth cleaned and I said nothing.

A few days later a pre-recorded interview aired on the radio. The dental assistant heard it resulting in her giving my confidential information to her husband. He called me at home. I was told about how they had to use condoms and get tested, which was completely ridiculous.

I explained that if his wife was a professional then she would follow universal infection control procedures. She called the agency I worked for. My greatest fear was that this would hit the media.

This is just one example of the irrational phobia of someone else becoming my problem. I’m tired of other people trying to make their problem my problem.

The positive guys were so afraid that anyone would discover their status that often the only health care they got was in emergency after being hauled there by ambulance.

At a clinic I went to for routine bloodworm the technician entered the room masked and gowned. I repeatedly asked why they were doing this, the answer: "You’ll have to talk to you doctor." I was looking at uneducated people treating me as if I had Eboli. I complained and the policy was changed to taking universal precautions.

What I had truly hoped is that the equation of time + education + treatment advancement would = less stigma, more rational thought and less phobia.

Instead the trajectory seems to be the further we go from the crisis years, the more phobia is present.

Here in Israel, ignorance is bliss, and don't ruin it by sharing your status.

The result again is not dissimilar to telling someone that you carry the plague. This is why the HIV infection rates have gone up 55% in about six years.

Upon being asked my status and being rejected online, I got this first time and now a classic:

I have a couple of positive friends and I’m cool with that, but I can’t take the risk.

It's never good when you start saying "I have (fill in the blank) friends, but...(I'm not racists, HIV phobic or whatever).

The irony I never dealt with such stigma as I do now, or at least experienced in Israel. A month-long Skype conversational with a guy suddenly stopped when I got closer to coming to Tel Aviv. I didn’t want to fuck the guy, I wanted people with whom I could socialize.

I’ve written about him already, our status conversation went as follows:

“So how does that work?”

“What?”

“You know one negative and one the other not”

“Like it does all the time.”

How about upon disclosing another time and being told, When I think of that I think of the devil.

Well at least that clears a few things up like why I love the Exorcist and horror movies so much!

I'm not sure what part of that is hard to understand. This at least is understood in Canada to allow non-disclosure when one is undetectable and using condoms. While this recently ruling was a step backwards in many ways, at least this this awknowledgement.

Of course there will always be those who aren’t comfortable with us or need to learn. However there does come a time when enough is enough already.

To be honest I’ve never felt this way before in all my time being out since the mid-80s.

I’m tired of the phobia. I’m tired of the irrational fear.

I felt I was lucky that I managed to get through the difficult days decades ago relatively unscathed. Here though, it's another story. It's very isolating psychologically.

This doesn’t feel good. It's not that I need to profess my status, but it is a large part of what I've done, who I am, the work I've done. Ironically those who are fighting to not have to hide their lives are forcing others to do just that.

But, ultimately I have no choice as I will always play the role of educator, like it or not. I just need to take a deep breath and continue. After 3 decades, I am suffering from teacher's fatigue.

Thanks for reading, as this is a rant I needed to get off my chest.

Author

Brian Finch - Founder

]]>Wed, 23 Apr 2014 00:00:00 -0400Purim - and a stranger in the nighthttp://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/purim
http://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/purim
Brian Finch writes from Tel Aviv "During Purim, a Jewish holiday akin to Halloween full of costumes and customary heavy drinking, I took my little Chihuahua out to check the landscape."

Where I’m living is really akin to being located at Dundas Square in Toronto, but without the square. It’s loud, with incessant car horns (this is the second official language of Israelis.) it's something that makes me want to hunt drivers down and bash them in the head. For example, stopping to make a turn waiting for an opening in traffic is almost a criminal offence.

Purim as you can imagine this place is central station for the drinking and partying cowd. This is kind of like straight pride, where everyone goes out and really gets into it everywhere. Teens and others are bussed in in large tour busses and pop-up costume stores appear all over the place.

The dogs (and Tel Aviv is the most dog loving city I’ve ever travelled to, more than Paris, New York or Toronto) are dressed up as well. I couldn’t find anything small enough for my little Chihuahua, Hildy, weighing in at 3.5 pounds. I put on her NYC black hoodie with the 42nd Subway sign on the back, and a purple and black stripped neck tie that was still a bit too big for her.

Carrying her around was like being with a super star. At one point two woman came over (as with Pride this is a huge photo op night) and started taking photos, then four more come over and started flashing, and then a few more. I’m holding her - and at this point, I’m just the accessory - while cameras where flashing all around us.

I moved on to another boulevard. When I say boulevard I mean a streets that is dvided and lined with tries. On one side is a path for bicycles and on the other side there is a pedestrian walkway; in between is grass, playgrounds, cafés. They are real public spaces. And they were packed with zombies and people in medieval costumes with spontaneous sword fights and chaos going on.

As I’m walking, a young woman, slightly hammered, comes up to see the dog. I ask if I can get a photo of Hildy with her. We never got a very good photo. Her friend, a very cute 24 year-old wants to hold her so I say sure, although I was a bit nervous because he had a lot to drink. Then he asks if I have a boyfriend. As more people come over to see the dog, he just leans over and starts making out with me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the people fleeing away who were enamoured with the dog. This was a unique and very funny moment. I’m just going with the flow.

He takes off and I continue along and I bump into him again. Once again he pulls me in and starts kissing me while I’m holding the little pooch and probably the gayest dog on earth. He gives me his number. He speaks five languages I learn, Italian, French, Spanish, Hebrew and English. The only thing i can think of is that he is a trust fund baby that’s been able to live around the world.

I did, though, text him the next day with the photo of him and the dog. He says that he remembers that he thought I was hot but couldn't remember what I looked like. I’m not surprised, I’m actually impressed that he remembered at all. I always love those special words, “You,re the last thing I remember from that night.

It was getting late, and I didn’t know where to go with this. I chickened out of pursuing him any further. Someone plastered is a different person than when they are sober. Was he just being polite? Or when I sent him my photo did he mean what he said? In any case, I didn’t need to fuck him to have a story out of it.

And that’s all I needed.

Author

Brian Finch - Founder

]]>Mon, 31 Mar 2014 00:00:00 -0400Reporting in from Tel Avivhttp://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/report-from-tel-aviv
http://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/report-from-tel-aviv
Our founder Brian Finch is in Israel.and says of the gay men there "In terms of HIV, their heads are in the sand and that’s the way they like it."

It feels like it’s been awhile since I’ve arrived in Tel Aviv. One month. And, like alway, traveling is a bit of a crap shoot, or as I like to say, “it’s like playing Russian Roulette.”

The month I spent last year here was spent mostly being really tired, and not doing a lot of what I wanted to do. I was also hanging out and wasting my time with an over-aged hipster who preferred transient connections than building networds of friends. This has influenced my trip here this time. I’m now not so interested in the guys who want the “tourists” that wash in and out as if they were the nightly tides.

In terms of HIV, their heads are in the sand and that’s the way they like it. Nobody says anything, so I play by what is legal in Canada, and that is non-disclosuree when undetectable and using a condom. Having said that, I’ve really not been into “hooking up.” It doesn’t help that when I arrived major construction was going on below my unit. From the moment I got here I was trying to sleep off my jet lag while the sound of jack hammers going on below kept pulling me out of a deep sleep.

This set me up for major fatigue and lasted for three weeks. That doesn’t put me in the mood for much of anything. Instead I’ve been hanging around with a Torontonian who just moved here, and fortunately for me, is a retired vet.

I met one guy who is positive, and that was nice. But I just can’t get my mojo going, if you know what I mean. I have tons of messages on the local site, and I haven’t looked at them. (I still have two months so this may change.)

However, the bright light, and the party of the ball is my little 1.4 kilo (3.5 pounds) dog Hildy. They aren’t used to seeing such a small dog. I’ve stopped counting how many times her photo has been taken, and why her tongue hangs out (she had to get her teeth removed) or even being asked if she was for sale.

Traveling with her is like going from invisible to being very seen indeed. People watch, smile, some laugh, others just stop and stare. The kids all want to pet her. Where ever I go I’m always talking to people.

I’ve never travelled with a pet and it is a completely different experience. Here she can pretty much go anywhere, including restaurants. On the beach it’s crazy. Sometimes we get a little mobbed. It’s impossible to talk on the phone as people just come up and start going gaga over her even though I’m chatting away. I call these Hildy moments. “Gotta go, we’re having a Hildy moment.”

At the local bagel/coffee place across the street I’ve started to get to know the regulars. Of course it all starts with the dog. Suddenly yesterday I look around and I’m sitting with a bunch of women who I call “The Real Housewives” They are comparing make up, they have the look. If you watch the show you know it - the clothes are expensive, the make up, the facial fillers - complete with their “gay”, an older fellow with a white poodle donning a “show cut” from grooming, complete with sparkle nail polish.

I ask about the other shopping centre as I don’t like the one that I lacross the street from. The woman with long died blond hair, very tanned face and polished make up looks at me to say, “Oh dear we don’t have passports.”This is the equivalent of the Toronto saying of “I get nosebleeds if I go north of Bloor.” This made me laugh. I indeed had found the real housewives.

The main thing occupying my time right now is an intensive one-on-one Hebrew program I’m taking. 7.5 hours a week, plus a lot of studying. I’m a language geek. I enjoy learning and studying languages, especially one I deal with all around me and in Canada. My teacher is great I’m starting to wonder if she is gay. She’s petite with short hair, and when taking about how I don’t like to shop for clothes, she admitted that she didn’t either. And then I found out that she never wanted to have kids (hmmmmm - but that’s not very lesbian-like here. Gaybies are the rage in Israel). But she did know The Real Housewives show when I mentioned it. The jury is out.

I did have one odd moment. There was a siren drill for school kids. Instead of the fire drills I was used to back in my day, these are exercises in getting to the bomb shelter. I didn’t know. From my 19th floor the sound rattled the metal on the window frames. My stomach sank, “Could this be? Is there a rocket coming our way?” Thanks to Facebook I found out quickly what it was. Nonetheless, in the short time those sirens went off everything seemed surreal.

Not too long ago a tourist bus just headed into Egypt from Elliat was bombed, killing everyone. It’s a different world here. To know there are countries around me that want to see everyone one here obliterated and the country destroyed is an experience we thankfully don’t have in Canada.

Thankfully, Hildy didn’t care about the sirens at all. I went on my way and it was all but forgotten. Hopefully I’ll have some sexy times to report on next time, and some travels. For now I’m remaining a good student and melding into everyday life. This is how I like to travel and why I don’t consider myself a tourist.